The death of a hero

Freya von Moltke, humanist, Christian, wife, scholar, hero.

Yesterday, I learned that one of my heroes passed: the extraordinary Freya von Moltke.  If you look on my profile, you'll see that the book Letters to Freya is, in fact, one of the most influential in my life.  I read it a decade ago.  The book is comprised of letters written by Freya's husband, Helmuth, during the black days of WWII.  Helmuth worked from within the Nazi intelligence services to block its efforts wherever possible.  Reading the letters, written over several years, is a remarkable map of 2 human souls and of a equally remarkable marriage.  As the war continues, Helmuth's frustration with the evil and absurd policies of the Reich grows.  He is posted far away from his beloved Kreisau, the family estate.  And he is ultimately (and inevitably) arrested for sedition.  The last letters he writes to Freya before his execution are both heartbreaking and soul-enlarging, something very few writers achieve - yet this work was not written for effect, but as genuine correspondence between very real lovers.

I was fortunate to make a small personal connection: I noticed the book was translated into English by Beate Rhum von Open, and her excellent introduction to the book was signed from Annapolis, MD.  Now, this was before Google days, but I was so moved by the book I wanted to thank this Beate.  I called information (something people used to do), and asked for the number.  I was surprised to receive it.  I called, and a rather elderly-sounded woman with a pronounced German accent answered.  It was Beate.  We had a wonderful conversation about the book.  "Was Freya still alive?" I asked.  She was indeed, in Germany at that time, and in fact Ms. von Open was on her way to see her.  So I was able to deliver a small bit of correspondence, via this generous woman, to Freya herself.

One vivid example of Helmuth's insight: "Yesterday I saw an impressive sight: In one of the rubble heaps I passed there must have been a carnival shop.  Children from 4 to 14 had taken possession; they had put on coloured caps, held little flags and lanterns, threw confetti, and pulled long paper streamers behind them, and in this get-up they marched through the ruins.  An uncanny sight to see, an apocalyptic sight."